


FROM THE CONCRETE

by litwick



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Humor, M/M, Psychics, Slow Burn, self-indulgence, some violence, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9016003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litwick/pseuds/litwick
Summary: Hinata and Kageyama are both espers that compete in the same underground fighting circuit. While Hinata, a rookie pyromancer, seeks approval and validation, Kageyama, Miyagi's best telekinetic, just wants to collect his prize money and go home.





	1. THE END AND THE BEGINNING (AND THE BEGINNING OF THE END)

**Author's Note:**

> If Haikyuu!! and Mob Psycho 100 had a baby, and that baby was occasionally babysat by Avatar: Legend of Korra, it would be this fic. 
> 
> I also messed with ages in this fic. Hinata and Kageyama are 21, Oikawa is 30, Iwaizumi is 25, Yachi is 22, Karasuno third-years are 27, and Karasuno second-years are 26. Also, Oikawa smokes and Kageyama has tattoos because this fic is self-indulgent af.

Hinata Shoyo never runs cold.

Molten heat, red-hot and bubbling, simmers just below the surface of his skin, making him glow like a human ember in the ring’s harsh overhead light. He exhales, and steam rises from his mouth in one long, even cloud.

Fire comes from the _breath_ , and Hinata knows this well. He gulps in a few more lungfuls of air, willing his nerves to settle as the loudspeakers crackle to life to announce the contenders—him, and some other rookie pyromancer. The wall of steam surrounding him grows with each steadying inhale, but Hinata knows that his silhouette still cuts through the haze like a beacon at sea. At the opposite end of the ring, he can see his opponent build his own screen, but it doesn’t match Hinata’s in range.

The cloud cover can’t be very exciting for the spectators, but they’re well aware that most of it will dissipate as soon as the buzzer sounds. Hinata’s fear-induced nausea from earlier has subsided, and all that’s left at the forefront of his mind is intense, almost dizzying, anticipation.

 _Fighting fire with fire, folks,_ the announcer says, voice coming through the speakers gruff and tinny. The clock, projected in large, red numerals high onto the Northern wall of the ring, begins to run. Hinata watches the it tick down from one minute with clenched fists.

 _On the Eastern end, we have rookie Haiba Lev, the Molotov Cocktail. He’s made a splash this past year with ten wins and four losses._ The voice stutters somewhat over the foreign name, but recovers quickly.

_On the Western end, we have rookie Hinata Shoyo, the Little Phoenix. This is only his third match, folks, which puts him at one win and one loss._

“And it’s about to be two wins,” Hinata vows to himself, cracking his neck on both sides as the countdown hits thirty seconds. He’d lost his first round; it was partially because he couldn’t snap himself out of his all-consuming pre-match anxiety, partially because it was a poor match-up in the first place. Telekinetic espers were tough to begin with, and his jumpiness made himself an easy opponent. He’d found his rhythm in his second round, though, and he was raring to improve his win-to-loss ratio.

Hinata sinks into a crouch a split second before the buzzer goes, and is off like a bullet from a gun before the so-called Molotov Cocktail even knows what hits him. Hinata is one of the newest of the new, and not many have seen him fight before. He’s small and not particularly intimidating, but he’s fast—and so far, it’s taken his opponents by surprise each time.

A blast of fire, razing orange against the grey concrete of the ring, hits Haiba in his left side and sends him flying. Hinata manages to catch the moment his green eyes fly open in shock, and he can feel his mouth break into a wide, toothy grin. His celebration is-short lived, however, because Haiba picks himself up quickly and sends his own volley of blue fire rocketing toward Hinata, which he just barely manages to dodge.

Another follows soon after, and Hinata ducks out of the way more cleanly this time. He can feel the flare of heat as it whizzes by his left shoulder and sparks against the wall behind him, leaving a halo of black ash on the concrete. Hinata breaks his dive with a roll and is up on his feet again almost immediately. He takes a running start and springs into the air, flying higher than someone without telekinetic abilities has any right to. At the peak of his jump, he swings, aiming his strike at Haiba’s stomach.

He’s slightly off mark—his aim still isn’t that refined—but it makes contact all the same. Haiba weathers the blow well, and comes back at Hinata with a vengeance. Hinata’s seen this kind of spite before, in the few real matches and the countless practice matches he’s had in the past; espers, regardless of specialty, hate losing to someone as small as him.

When it comes to battles of psychic ability, simultaneous attack and defense are impossible. The number of directions in which mental energy can flow is limited, which means that all attacks have to be timed to lapses in defense.

Hinata, however, does not have the luxury of defending himself.

Fire, given enough time and and fuel, can scorch away even the thickest shield, both psychic and physical. But it can’t offer any protection from other attacks, which means that Hinata’s only choice is to dodge, weave, and evade between his chances to return fire for as long as he can. It’s a handicap that Haiba shares, though, so the match quickly becomes one of endurance.

By the ten minute mark, both espers are gasping for breath and wiping sweat from their brows. Their blows lose both power and accuracy as the match progresses, and in the lull of explosions, they can sense the audience becoming bored with them. At fifteen, Hinata musters up the strength for one last fireball, and Haiba, already dangerously close to collapsing, does not have the energy to dodge.

Hinata wins, but just barely. The “Molotov Cocktail” lives up to his name—his fire is explosive, and by the time the match is over, Hinata’s arms and legs are littered with burns. In the end, it’s Hinata’s stamina that saves him. Haiba had been more experienced and stronger physically (not to mention at _least_ thirty centimeters taller than him), but he was also gangly and nowhere near as agile. He’d folded with a raised fist, lying in a panting heap on the floor as Hinata whooped and took a victory lap, more or less completely reinvigorated by his hard-fought win.

Iwaizumi-san claps him on the back when he exits the ring, which makes Hinata hack and cough on impact. Oikawa-shishou stands to his left, his chin perched on Iwaizumi-san’s shoulder and his arms wrapped snugly around his narrow waist. He smiles and extends a hand to ruffle Hinata’s hair in congratulations. A cigarette is clasped between his forefinger and thumb of his other hand, but he drops it to the floor and grinds it out with the toe of his shiny patent-leather shoes.

“That’s my Sho-chan!” he coos, fingers still threaded through Hinata’s mass of orange hair. He moves his palms in little circles, and Hinata’s head travels with it.

“Did you bet on me this time, Oikawa-shishou?” he asks, beaming at him with eyes still aglow with victory-induced high.

“You betcha, kiddo. That Russian kid didn’t stand a chance. You made me ¥35,000, so sukiyaki’s on me tonight.”

Iwaizumi shrugs Oikawa off his shoulder and turns to look at him incredulously. “You would bet against your own apprentice?”

“Only when I know he’s going to lose!” Oikawa-shishou defends, disentangling his hand from Hinata’s hair to wave in dismissal. “Sho-chan gets it.”

“I do not!” Hinata protests. “Oikawa-shishou, you should always have faith in me!”

“Win more matches, and I’ll have more faith,” he retorts. “Now go let Yacchan patch you up so we can go eat.”

. . .

Oikawa’s choice of restaurant is packed by the time they’re seated. It’s a short five blocks from the venue, so Hinata recognizes some faces from the crowd of spectators. Some offer him a polite “congratulations on your victory” when passing by, and by the time their food comes, Hinata’s cheeks are rosy with contentment.

Iwaizumi-san waits for Hinata to pile his bowl high with beef, noodles, and leafy greens (at Oikawa-shishou’s insistence) before getting down to business.

“So,” Iwaizumi begins, taking a sip of beer. He sets it aside before continuing. “I got the match-ups for the next _Battle at the Garbage Dump_. You’re up against Kageyama Tobio.”

Oikawa clicks his tongue in sympathy. “Tough break, Sho-chan.”

“What?” Hinata’s chopsticks still, and his noodles slide back into his bowl with a _plop_. “Why, what makes you say that?”

“‘Cause you’re going to lose, Shoyo,” Iwaizumi-san explains. There is no hint of humor or teasing in his voice; Hinata can tell that he is completely serious.

“And because he’s an asshole,” Oikawa-shishou adds. He slaps a pack of cigarettes of the table and digs one out. He brings it to his lips and pats his pockets, searching absently. “Iwa-chan, do you—”

Wordlessly, Iwaizumi fishes a lighter out from inside his breast pocket and ignites the end. Oikawa takes a long drag and exhales directly, unapologetically into Hinata’s face. Hinata, who has encountered more than his fair share smoke and ash that night, doesn’t even flinch.

“More of an asshole than you, Oikawa-shishou?” Hinata asks cheekily. “You guys should really be more supportive of me, you know.”

“Ah, it’s not really a matter of support, Shoyo,” Iwaizumi placates. “He’s just too good. He’s a telekinetic esper who’s never lost a match. And we all know you have trouble facing bad telekinetic espers.”

“Unfortunately, Iwa-chan is right. I’ve been following his career since the moment he stepped on the scene,” Oikawa reluctantly concurs. “And he’s infinitely more of an asshole! Anyone who dates Iwa-chan before me deserves a swift and painful death.” He reaches over to pat Iwaizumi’s face fondly, and Iwaizumi promptly bats his hand away.

 _“He does not, you horrible sadist,”_ he growls. “But seriously, Shoyo. You can’t win this one. It’s just a bad match-up for you.”

Hinata scowls. “Well, you can tell your ex—” Oikawa squawks in indignation at the word “—to stay on his toes.”

“Sure, Shoyo,” Iwaizumi agrees, in the same tone of voice that he usually reserves for praising Oikawa-shishou’s cat. “Just be careful.”

Hinata falls silent after that; he’s so saturated with determination that he practically crackles with pent-up energy. He scarfs down three bowls of sukiyaki and downs the rest of Iwaizumi’s beer before abruptly standing. He bows stiffly and thanks Oikawa for the meal, and Oikawa waves off his gratitude with a smile.

“Try your best next week, Sho-chan. We’ll see you later.”

Iwaizumi just nods.

Hinata nods solemnly back and all but sprints from the restaurant.

“So who do you want to put your money on for _Battle at the Garbage Dump?_ ” Iwaizumi asks. Shoyo gone, he captures Oikawa’s left hand in his right, thumb stroking lightly over the ridges of his knuckles. He finds it odd how much more comfortable he becomes with public displays of affection when the little redhead isn’t around—somewhere between first meeting Oikawa and the third month of dating him, he’d grown to see Shoyo as somewhat of a younger brother, annoying but endearing. And like most younger brothers, Shoyo is quick to complain loudly whenever they get too touchy-feely in front of him.

Oikawa tilts his head back and blows smoke toward the ceiling. “I thought we agreed no shop-talk at dinner?”

“Humor me.”

“All on Kageyama, of course. I love Sho-chan, but I’m not an idiot.”

“To be honest, I can’t believe Shoyo hasn’t heard of Kageyama before. I know the kid’s a little thick, but his name is everywhere.”

Oikawa hums. “That’s actually probably my fault. It physically pains me to mention him aloud.”

“But it doesn’t physically pain you enough to refrain from profiting off his wins,” Iwaizumi prods.

“Of course not. If anything, it’s reparations for all the suffering I’ve had to endure because of his sheer existence.”

“You’ve never even actually spoken to the guy.” Oikawa sniffs in distaste and laces his fingers through Iwaizumi’s more tightly. “Call it intuition.”

. . .

Hinata rounds the empty lot where his fight was held at a breakneck pace, sending pieces of gravel scattering with each labored footfall. He skids to a stop and nearly topples over; running so soon after eating was a poorly thought-out idea.

“TANAKA-SAAAAAAAAN,” Hinata bellows, hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his volume.

“OI, HINATA,” A voice answers, equally as loud (if not louder). Hinata’s head swivels wildly to find the source, but all he sees is the grey and black of rapidly-deconstructing metal and concrete. It’s nearing 2AM, and Hinata does his best to steer clear of descending rubble in the dark.

Given the illegal nature (and explosive results) of esper fights, the rings that hold them are not permanently fixed in place. They’re built, taken apart, and reconstructed as needed, usually by a team of espers with talents relevant to construction—telekinesis, so building materials can be levitated back and forth; pyrokinesis, so pieces of metal can be welded together quickly and efficiently; electrokinesis, so the loudspeakers and lights can run without help from outside power companies; and the like. A little money for bribing authorities and a couple strategic friends in the police force tend to go a long way as well.

Having dabbled a bit in welding himself prior to fighting, Hinata knows the process like the back of his hand. Sheets of scrap metal and bricks of cement float in a rigid path to settle neatly in their designated flatbeds and dump trucks, and Hinata calls out (a little more quietly this time) to the espers in charge of them in greeting.

“UP HERE,” Tanaka’s voice continues. Sure enough, he’s perched precariously at the very top of the structure, waving enthusiastically down at Hinata. He’s agile as he scrambles down, no doubt from years of practice, and he’s face-to-face with Hinata in a matter of minutes.

Tanaka sweeps him into a headlock and ruffles his hair fondly. “Nice win, Hinata! It was a good fight.”

Hinata wriggles free and smooths his hair back into place. “Thank you, Tanaka-san. But there’s no time for congratulations. I need you to teach me how to kick a telekinetic’s ass. Fast.”

Tanaka throws his head back and laughs uproariously. “Sure, Hinata! What brings this on all of a sudden?”

“I’m fighting Kageyama Tobio for the first round of _Battle at the Garbage Dump.”_

Tanaka sobers suddenly and gives an awkward little cough. “Well. I mean. I’ll do what I can, Hinata, but the match is in a week and you don’t have a very good track record with telekinetic types.”

“Why does everyone keep bringing that up?” Hinata wonders aloud. “It was one match! It was just bad luck!”

“It was a lot more than bad luck, Hinata. Pyromancers don’t really do that well against telekinetics in general. It’s like a rock-paper-scissors thing. And you did _particularly_ bad.”

“So you don’t think I can beat him either, Tanaka-san,” Hinata accuses, hands on his hips.

“Well, maybe with more time—”

“Tanaka-san.” All traces of petulance are gone from Hinata’s boyish face, and he stares up at Tanaka with narrowed, intense eyes. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Tanaka stares right back before sighing melodramatically, eyes looking skyward as if pleading with the heavens for guidance. “Well, I guess there’s no helping it. Let’s give you a fighting chance. Meet me at Kiyoko-san’s tomorrow at three.”

. . .

In retrospect, Hinata isn’t sure what he was expecting by asking Tanaka Ryuunosuke for help. Sure, Tanaka-san’s pretty damn good at welding, and, like Hinata, he _did_ fight in some singles matches a couple years ago, but, realistically, there’s not much Tanaka can teach him that he hasn’t already. The truth of the matter is that Hinata simply doesn’t know any other pyromancers—well, except for Haiba Lev, but he’s already beaten him into the ground, so it’s unlikely that he can learn much from him should he choose to seek him out.

The door to Shimizu Kiyoko-san’s bar (which is mostly a front for the more business-related ends of esper fighting) flies open with a loud clang, and Hitoka Yachi jumps and drops the glass she was polishing. Shimizu, who is seated on a bar stool across from her, looks up from her laptop and catches it before it can shatter against the counter. Yachi stutters out a “thank you, Kiyoko-san!” as Shimizu turns to frown slightly at the Tanaka-Hinata duo.

“Please be more gentle with my door, Tanaka-san,” Shimizu chides.

“Hi, Yachi,” Hinata says, peeking out from behind Tanaka’s back.

“Hi, Shoyo,” she returns, beaming.

“Kiyoko-san!” Tanaka bows low and straightens. “Pardon the intrusion! May we use your basement for some extra training?”

“Sure. I’m closing early today, though, so make sure you lock up when you’re done.”

“Kiyoko-san,” Tanaka sniffles. Hinata is pretty sure he can see tears prick at the corner of Tanaka’s eyes. “You’re as kind as you are beautiful and intelligent.”

“It’s no trouble. My basement is always available to espers who fight in my circuit.”

Hinata bows as well. “Thank you again for this opportunity, Shimizu-san.”

At the sight of his protege and the (supposed) love of his life interacting, Tanaka can’t quite keep the tears from rolling down his cheeks. Yachi, who never quite managed to accustom herself to Tanaka’s emotional outbursts, looks like she’s at a loss for what to do.

He quickly dries his eyes with the sleeve of his coat and steers Hinata toward the basement stairwell, singing Shimizu’s praises all the while. Hinata flicks the light on and they descend in silence, mostly to give Tanaka a chance to collect himself. The basement, for the most part, is just an empty space. There are a couple targets on the wall, a rack of weights in a far corner, and some mats strewn across the floor, but otherwise, there’s not much need for physical equipment when esper fighting relies wholly on mental strength.

Tanaka herds Hinata to the middle of the floor, his hands clasped firmly on his skinny shoulders.

“Well, Hinata, I’m going to level with you.”

“Right.”

“Your only viable option is to just keep hitting him until he falls down.”

“What?”

“Spam flamethrower, Charizard.”

“That’s not even allowed! You can only use psychic energy in bursts. No hosing, no extended holds.”

Tanaka waves off Hinata’s protests. “I know, I know. That’s not what I mean. You just have to keep throwing punches until you wear Kageyama down.”

“So, basically the same thing I’ve already been doing so far. Has anyone actually been successful in wearing him down before?”

“Not that I know of, no. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be the first to do it!”

Hinata wails in frustration. “Tanaka-san, don’t you have any other ideas?”

He shakes his head ruefully. “Sorry, Hinata, but it’s not like you have any other cards up your sleeve. Unless you want to chuck silverware at his head from a distance.”

“No projectiles, no illegal headshots,” Hinata intones sullenly.

It was true, though. While some espers were lucky enough to have multiple psychic abilities, Hinata really only had his fire and the occasional ability to bend spoons—and even that was pretty inconsistent.

“Have you ever seen Kageyama fight, Hinata?” Tanaka sighs.

“I didn’t even know he existed until yesterday.”

“Well, you’re not missing much. His matches are some of the most boring things I’ve ever seen.”

Hinata furrows his orange brows in confusion. “What makes you say that? I thought he was really good?”

“He is, but his attack style is nonexistent. He basically puts up an impenetrable barrier around him and waits until his opponents are too tired to attack any more. Then, he slams them against a wall once or twice until they’re out cold. It’s brutal but efficient. Not very exciting, though.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“Well, yeah. It means that if you can tear down his barrier, he’ll be somewhat vulnerable. If he has no defense, he’ll be forced into offense, which gives you an advantage in terms of attack style.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“Well, like your shishou likes to say, ‘if you’re going to hit something, hit it until it breaks.’” Tanaka punctuates the statement with a hearty slap on the back. 


	2. IMMOVABLE OBJECT, UNSTOPPABLE FORCE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i mention this will be slow burn? because it will be slow burn.

Hinata’s first _Battle at the Garbage Dump_ match feels nothing like his fight against Haiba Lev the week prior. He hasn’t even set foot in the ring yet, but he can sense the glaring difference in attitude—from the spectators, from his friends, from Kageyama too, probably. He knows, regardless of whether they voice it or not, that no one expects a win out of him. Hinata is different too, though not so much in fighting ability (even in spite of all the extra help that Tanaka-san has provided for him).

Hinata is _tired_. He is tired of Oikawa-shishou and Iwaizumi-san tip-toeing around the topic of “the tournament” like he doesn’t already know they’ve put their money on his opponent. He is tired of Tanaka-san’s phony encouragement, well-intentioned or not. He’s tired of the looks of pity that Shimizu-san and Yachi-chan sneak at him when they think he isn’t looking. Above all, he is tired of _Kageyama_ , who has consumed his every waking thought since his victory sukiyaki last week.

Sometimes he forgets that he’s never actually properly met the guy; the seed of resentment that he harbors for him is so real that it transcends the constraints of his usual moral obligation to give strangers a chance. For the life of him, Hinata can’t understand why anyone would choose to compete only to purposely _not_ compete. For Hinata, Kageyama’s supposed ability to reap rewards he hasn’t sown—rewards he has no right _claiming_ — is proof enough of his questionable morality.

Just outside the Eastern gate, Hinata rolls his shoulders and hops from foot to foot. His insides are ablaze with the familiar sense of all-consuming instinct that comes with pyromancy. Hinata knows, from experience, that it’s an easy one to get carried away in; it feels like pure adrenaline, like invincibility and impunity.

Hinata’s careful not to let it come to that.

“You ready, champ?” Oikawa-shishou all but materializes from around a corner, hands in his pockets and without a trace of Iwaizumi-san (which, for Oikawa, was rare). “I hear you’ve been getting in a few more training sessions with Tanaka. It certainly explains why you haven’t shown up once to your day job this past week.” The accusation holds no animosity, but it’s there all the same.

“Sorry, Oikawa-shishou,” Hinata apologizes absently. His eyes are glued to the Western end of the stadium.

“No worries. How do you feel?” “Like I could fight a bear and a shark at the same time and _win_.” It’s not an exaggeration.

Oikawa lets out a low whistle. “Well then. Don’t let me stand in your way. Go get ‘em.”

At last, Hinata tears his gaze off the other gate at the far end of the arena and meets Oikawa’s eyes. “I will,” he promises. A bell chimes, and Hinata finally, _finally_ steps into the ring. It’s bright—much brighter than the last venue had been, and the hastily-constructed stands are packed end to end with jeering spectators. An audience this boisterous used to put Hinata on edge, used to leave him reeling at every boo and cheer. However, somewhere between his first fistfight (age 12, at the convenience store, in response to several increasingly demeaning comments about his height) and now, Hinata has grown to crave a crowd’s approval.

Hinata squints in the dual glare of overhead fluorescent lighting and flashing phone cameras as Kageyama Tobio makes his entrance. Hinata’s first glimpse of Miyagi’s most notorious esper is, well, underwhelming, to say the least. He’s clad in a black hoodie and dark, fitted jeans, and Hinata can’t help but think that it’s a little arrogant to wear cotton to a fire fight. He’s tall—at least 180 centimeters—and hair is black and shiny; in the ring’s sallow lighting, it looks almost navy. Dark blue sit under a heavy fringe, and his arched brows are drawn together in focus. Hinata also can’t help but think that he looks a little… tame for a two-time _Garbage Dump_ champion. Too patrician, too young (though, in reality, they look to be the same age). Still, there’s something oddly familiar in his posture, and Hinata has a sneaking suspicion that he’s encountered him somewhere before (and likely disliked him then as well). They lock stares for a split second, and Kageyama unabashedly scrutinizes him before looking away in unmistakable boredom.

Suddenly, unintentionally, the seed of resentment within Hinata blossoms into full-blown hatred.

 _Ladies and Gentlemen,_ the announcer begins. _Get ready for Battle at the Garbage Dump’s opening match: An Unstoppable Force Meets an Immovable Object!_

Hinata shakes off the surge of anger grins. Unstoppable force, huh? (The praise is all the permission he needs to punch a fist in the air in vindication; to his delight, loud cheering follows.)

_In the Eastern corner, we have rookie Hinata Shoyo, the Little Phoenix. He’s at two wins and one loss._

_And in the Western corner, we have the Aegis himself, two-time Garbage Dump champ Kageyama Tobio. He’s at an impressive seventy-eight wins and zero losses._

A cheer much louder than the one the audience afforded him erupts from the stands, and Hinata is reminded once again of just how underwhelming his odds of victory are. Kageyama doesn’t even lift a hand to acknowledge the support, and Hinata seethes in response. His body temperature climbs as his anger builds, and once again, a thick cloud of steam starts building around him with each affronted exhale.

There is no countdown this time, no clock to watch in anticipation. Instead, both espers wait with baited breath for the starting bell, the air in the arena crackling with the back-and-forth flow of mental energy between the two. It leaves Hinata’s unruly hair standing on end and his skin tingling with static.

The _ding_ of the bell is somewhat muffled by the roar of blood in his ears, but it doesn’t dampen his reflexes. Quick on his feet and ever nimble, Hinata darts forward.

...And is immediately thrown back by the surge of energy from Kageyama’s telekinetic barrier rising into place. It knocks the wind out of him, and Hinata is forced to drop to his knees, gasping, to regain bearings. While he was expecting something extraordinary, this is just _ridiculous_. Kageyama’s shield is visible, fluctuating purple and blue on his body like a thick second skin; that, in and of itself, is astounding. Hinata has never encountered a barrier so strong that it could actually take a physical form.

However, like Tanaka predicted, Kageyama doesn’t make any more moves. He sticks his hands in his pockets and yawns, clearly prepared to camp out under the protection of his inhuman _force field_ of a psychic barrier all night if he needs to.

“You asshole!” Hinata shouts, without really meaning to.

Across the floor, Kageyama shrugs his broad shoulders, unbothered.

Hinata releases a wordless yell and begins hitting Kageyama with blast after blast of fire, inching closer and closer as each makes contact and bounces harmlessly off. Before long, he’s standing a mere three meters away, the heat from his own attacks flaring against his skin as they ricochet off him. He doesn’t let up in the slightest; Hinata fully intends to _hit it until it breaks_.

Hinata goes strong for ten whole minutes of non-stop offense. Winded and sweaty from exertion, he briefly stops the barrage to inspect his progress, and is incensed to see that he hasn’t even made a dent. Kageyama’s barrier still glimmers vibrantly against the grey concrete of the arena, and he blinks owlishly at Hinata as if to ask _“are you done yet?”_

That’s when the insults start flying in tandem with the fireballs.

“Come out and fight me, you cheater!” A mean right hook ends in a white-hot blaze; Hinata’s fire is definitely burning hotter and brighter than it was at the beginning of the match.

“Dick!” he continues, sending out two more bursts that leave a smoking trail rising from the floor. From under his protective membrane, the sides Kageyama’s mouth tilt downward in an irritated frown.

“Are you scared, you big tele-coward?”

_“Bakageyama!”_

“If you’re not going to fight me, then _what else are you even good for?”_

Kageyama’s resolve snaps. He snarls with anger, barrier dissolving with a flicker as he switches to offense. Hinata is suddenly in the vice grip of Kageyama’s telekinetic hold, frozen in place and unable to brace himself as Kageyama lets loose and slams him into a wall.

There’s a sharp pain in his left shoulder as it makes contact. The collision is honestly not as bad as he thought it would be; because it’s illegal (well, as illegal as it can be in an activity that is already inherently illegal) to keep an opponent in a hold for more than two seconds, Hinata is thrown _at_ the wall instead of _through_ the wall. The slight buffer gives Hinata just enough leeway to stumble back to a stand, though he leans more heavily on his uninjured right side.

Hinata’s next attack grazes Kageyama’s left before he gets a chance to put his shield back in place, and orange flames start licking at the sleeve of his black hoodie. ( _“And this is why you don’t wear cotton to a fire fight, dumbass,”_ Hinata thinks.) He sheds it without a second thought, revealing a ribbed white tank top and muscled biceps. An audience member wolf whistles in response.

(It might just be the lighting, but Hinata _swears_ Kageyama’s ears tinge pink in embarrassment.)

Hinata isn’t fast enough to get another blow in before Kageyama’s silhouette is shimmering blue and purple again, but it doesn’t matter. He’s been properly engaged, and Hinata is watches vigilantly for any more openings. He assumes Kageyama will attack from a distance—if his “strategy” is limited throws, letting Hinata get in close would only hinder him.

He soon learns that his assumption is false. Kageyama is much faster than he looks—almost as fast as Hinata—and he’s within arm’s reach when he straight-up _punches_ him. No telekinesis, no flashy illusions, just a solid cross to Hinata’s left cheek. Hinata reels back, mouth filling with blood as he accidentally bites his tongue. He spits, and red splatters against the floor.

Unfortunately, it’s completely legal. While psychic headshots result in immediate disqualification, a physical punch to the jaw is completely a-okay, if a little unconventional. Kageyama’s back on his side of the arena in a flash, smirking in satisfaction as Hinata sputters in indignation.

“Uncalled for!” Hinata tries to accuse, but his swelling tongue makes it difficult. It comes out as a garbled mess of unintelligible consonants.

“You started it,” Kageyama responds simply, somehow understanding him despite the new speech impediment. (Hinata can’t quite argue with him.) Dimly, Hinata realizes that those are the first words that Kageyama has spoken since their fight began.

The match’s momentum is renewed from there. This time, Kageyama is an active participant, matching each of Hinata’s blasts with a retaliation of his own. Hinata is slammed into the wall and ground a couple more times, but is careful not to let Kageyama get too close again; he has no desire to weather any more punches to the face.

The animosity between them builds as the fight drags on. Both espers are losing steam quickly, and the audience calls for blood as they simultaneously decide to finish things _then_ and _there_. Hinata roars, putting every last drop of energy he has into one last stream of white-hot fire. To his mounting horror, he realizes that his attack might have had more juice than a legal blast; it whizzes toward Kageyama, who makes no move to dodge, and Hinata _knows_ the resulting burn on his chest is going to be a nasty one.

He doesn’t have the chance to dwell on regret, however, because Kageyama has Hinata pinned in his oppressive telekinetic hold as soon as the fireball leaves his fist. He sails into the wall more soundly this time.

Hinata’s head cracks against the concrete, and he’s out like a light.

. . .

Like the name implies, Battle at the Garbage Dump indeed takes place at a garbage dump. It’s a bi-annual tournament, held once at the beginning of spring and once at the beginning of winter. In spite of the unfortunate choice of venue, it’s the largest and most renown singles tournament in Miyagi, as well as the most lucrative, for both the participants and the host, Shimizu Kiyoko.

Like all esper fight arenas, the “stadium” is constructed specifically for the tournament and to be taken apart and reused when it’s over. Given the time constraints, there’s no space specifically allocated for an infirmary. Instead, Hitoka Yachi, the on-site psychic healer, sets up shop in a medic tent just outside.

While Hinata has had to see a healer for the minor scratches and burns he’d sustained in his fights before, he’s never had to wake up in an infirmary. He comes to bleary-headed and nauseous, and Yachi sighs with relief as he blinks himself into consciousness.

“How do you feel?” she asks. Hinata is grateful that she keeps her voice down, because a migraine pounds mercilessly at the back of his head.

“Horrible,” Hinata groans. To his surprise, his tongue is back to normal—he suspects Yachi had everything to do with that.

“You have a concussion, but I did what I could, and it should be gone within a couple hours. Rest for now, and you can have visitors later. Oikawa-san was very adamant that he be the first to see you.”

“Thanks, Yacchan.” She smiles gently.

“Just doing my job, Shoyo-kun.”

Suddenly, Hinata remembers. “Yacchan, who won?”

“No one.” The voice comes from Hinata’s left. He draws back the curtain around his bed, and sure enough, Kageyama is in the bed next to him. “We were both disqualified.” His shirt is off, and bandages criss-cross the expanse of his chest. For a heart-stopping moment, Hinata thinks that Kageyama’s left arm is blackened and burned, but it’s not—he’s just covered, shoulder to wrist, in tattoos. It’s astounding that he didn’t realize earlier, when he first flung off his hoodie in the arena.

“Oh. What for?”

“They called a hosing foul on your last attack. And apparently my last hold was too long.”

“Felt like it,” Hinata agrees snidely, rubbing the back of his head ruefully.

Kageyama rolls his eyes. “I had third degree burns on my chest until Hitoka-san healed them. You don’t have room to complain.”

_“_ _You punched me in the face!”_

“Which is _legal_.” Kageyama is glaring at him, face stormy with freshly-brewing annoyance. From Hinata’s bedside, Yachi laughs awkwardly and excuses herself.

“Whatever.” Hinata’s done. His head hurts, his cheek stings, and he’s hungry.

Kageyama rolls his eyes again. He staggers his way to his feet, tugging on a souvenir _Battle at the Garbage Dump_ crewneck sweatshirt—likely his only choice, since Hinata destroyed both tops Kageyama wore to the tournament. He winces as the bandages press into tender skin.

Hinata is hit with a pang of guilt. He’s seen that kind of pain before, and regardless of how he feels about Kageyama as a person, he hates that he’s put someone through that much suffering (again).

“Sorry for, y’know, melting your skin off,” he offers.

Kageyama pauses in his trek to the infirmary’s entrance. “It’s okay.” He gives the back of his head an uncomfortable scratch. “Sorry for giving you a concussion.” They regard one another uneasily for a moment, and Kageyama exits before Hinata can accept or reject his apology.

“It’s okay,” Hinata mumbles to the empty room. He bundles his blankets up to his chin; while the infirmary has several space heaters running, it doesn’t quite keep the winter’s biting cold from seeping in through the cracks of the tent. He only gets to bask in the peace and quiet for a few minutes before Oikawa barges his way in, beside himself with worry.

“Sho-chan!” he cries. “Yacchan told me you were awake.” He shuffles over, drawing the sheets back and settling into bed with him without asking permission. Hinata scoots over a bit to accommodate him. Iwaizumi appears soon after and takes Yachi’s abandoned seat.

“The kid has concussion, Oikawa. Give him some space,” Iwaizumi admonishes.

“Sho-chan doesn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Hinata concurs. Honestly, the extra body heat is nice. Oikawa simpers and tucks him into his arms affectionately.

“How do you feel?” Iwaizumi prods, pointedly ignoring Oikawa’s fussing.

“You're the third person to ask me that today, Iwaisumi-san. I'm feeling a lot better than I was when I woke up, though,” Hinata responds truthfully. “Yacchan is good. I can’t believe she dropped out of med school.”

“That’s rich, coming from a high school dropout,” Oikawa teases. He squeezes him a little tighter and Hinata feigns choking.

“Well, it was a good fight,” Iwaizumi concedes. “You may not have won, but I don’t think anyone’s managed to goad Kageyama into fighting back before. I guess it pays to be an annoying little shit sometimes.”

“Iwa-chan, stop being mean to my injured protégé.”

“Yeah, Iwaizumi-san. Stop being mean to me. I’m in _pain_.”

“Stop encouraging him, Shoyo,” Iwaizumi warns. Hinata cackles.

“You know, under any other circumstances, I’d take you out for dinner. But I’m down a couple thousand yen, so it’ll have to wait, Sho-chan,” Oikawa croons, apologetic.

“That’s okay. Can I get a ride home with you guys?”

“Of course, kiddo,” Iwaizumi says.

. . .

Hinata’s key clicks in its lock, and he swings the door to his cheap apartment open. He flicks the hallway light on and attempts to turn the heat up, but to his dismay, he realizes that it’s been shut off—presumably because he didn’t pay last month’s bill.

Hinata sighs and trudges to his dresser so he can layer on some more clothing. While he didn’t particularly miss living with his last roommate—sure, Noya was fun and upbeat, but he was _much_ too loud in the mornings—he did miss the rent contribution. He’d been (optimistically) banking on some amount of prize money from _Battle at the Garbage Dump_ , but Kageyama had ensured that he walk away empty-handed. Realistically, it was only a matter of time before his landlord evicted him.

Of course, he could always move back in with Oikawa-shishou for a while, but it was borderline scarring to live with a couple as… _passionate_ as Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Hinata sincerely hopes it doesn’t come to that. He has a couple more fights coming up this month and the next, but he doubts that the winnings (assuming that he wins in the first place) will be enough to cover his living expenses. While esper fights are Hinata’s favorite source of income, the singles matches that he’s qualified to participate in aren’t exactly the most profitable—everyone knows that Miyagi’s doubles matches are where the real money comes from.

As a rookie with a poor win-to-loss ratio, doubles are pretty much out of the question.

Hinata’s covered in soot and blood, but he can’t muster up the energy to shower. Besides, if the heat is off, it probably means that the water will be cold too. He can always shower at Oikawa-shishou’s tomorrow morning before work (he debates skipping, but Oikawa-shishou will probably kill him and he literally can’t afford to miss any more). He shoves all thoughts of the match to the back of his mind, to be pondered and analyzed when his migraine completely subsides. He doesn’t want to get his clean sheets dirty, so he falls, face first, onto the living room’s beaten-up sofa. With one hand, he dislodges the blanket that’s draped over the back and wraps himself in it like a roll of sushi. Face buried in a ratty pillow, Hinata shuts his eyes and briefly sees Kageyama’s face—dark brows, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones—engraved into the inside of his eyelids. Then, for the second time in less than five hours, he passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, i have a real q for you guys: do you prefer longer chapters that update less frequently, or shorter chapters that update more frequently? chapters 1 & 2 were pretty short because they laid the foundation for the rest of the plot, but i have a little more flexibility from here on out. as always, i appreciate every comment/kudos/bookmark! happy almost new year, y'all

**Author's Note:**

> So. This is my first time ever attempting fanfiction. Tbh I'm a little nervous, so any/all feedback would be greatly appreciated?? Thanks, and happy holidays!! wow it is Dec. 24th when did that happen


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